


Hair Club for Hunters

by sinandcinnamon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Brothers, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hair Kink, Hair Washing, Kissing, M/M, Monster of the Week, Mutual Masturbation, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8211065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinandcinnamon/pseuds/sinandcinnamon
Summary: Prompted by Locknkey: "The latest monster covered Sam in goo. He can't get it out of his long glrious hair. Dean must help."  Yes, this is unapologetic fluff full of brotherly hijinks, questionable shampooing, and Wincest-y goodness.  I do apologize for the terrible title, and it's un-beta'd so please let me know if there are errors.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [locknkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/locknkey/gifts).



At first, it was just funny. Sam's hair had provided endless opportunities for mockery over the years, from unfortunate bowl cuts to by-the-number Marine clip jobs, but somewhere along the years he'd stopped reacting to Dean's barbs. Teasing your brother was something of a sacred duty, however, even if the witty observations Dean lobbed at him rarely got more than an eye roll these days. Covered in a good gallon's worth of ectoplasmic slop, Sam's shampoo commercial mane was offering a rare opportunity for serious ribbing. He looked ridiculous, like something from a bad Ghostbusters knockoff, slime slicking down the strands with a chunky viscosity that was truly revolting. The beast was dead and buried, allowing Dean unbounded glee on the way back to their rented room as each remark arrowed its way to a chink in Sam's armor, leaving him looking in equal parts disgusted with himself and reluctantly amused.

Dean, who had thankfully been out of sliming distance, was even kind enough to let Sam take the first shower. He moved around the room shuffling notes together and kicking stray bits of laundry into a vague pile. Wrapping up a case was more work than fun, but he still felt the high of a successful plan, one where neither of them had gotten injured and nothing evil had gotten away. The occasional noise of frustration came from the bathroom, but Dean frowned as they became both louder and more distressed. He moved beside the closed bathroom door and called out.

"Sam? Everything okay in there?" Maybe his voice had a bit more laughter in it than it should, but he hadn't really thought there was anything wrong at that point. There was a lengthy silence from the room beyond the rushing of poorly pressurized water.

"I... might need your help," Sam eventually replied, and it was the death-knell dejection and resignation in the admittance that finally wiped the smirk from Dean's mouth. He turned the battered brass knob and went in, wary of how exactly this seemingly smooth hunt was going to end up biting them in the ass.

Sam peeked out from behind the screen of the flimsy plastic curtain with an utterly despondent expression. His sodden hair was a tangled mess now, the faint green gleam showing it was still thoroughly saturated with the muck.

"It won't come out," he said, the words a quiet underscore to his misery. At Dean's prompting, it turned out he had tried to sluice the stuff out with everything from plain water to each and every free toiletry in the bathroom. 

“Lemme see what I can find.”

Dean combed through their belongings quickly, accumulating a small pile of possibilities. Standing beside the shower, he passed them in one at a time to his increasingly frustrated brother, his own annoyance rising as each substance was treated more desultorily than the last. He finally snapped when Sam splashed the beer over his gelling hair and didn't even make an attempt to work it into the snarls.

“Let me do it,” he snapped in disgust. He made as if to enter the stall before thinking better and dancing back a step to strip off his shirts and boots. After a split second of indecision, he pushed down his jeans as well. No sense in ruining his clothes, especially when they still hadn't found something that would get the slime out.

Courage and supplies in hand, he pushed his way in beside Sam's slumped body, ignoring the tight quarters and pretending he wasn't affected as radiant bits of spray dampened his socks and underwear. Sam's incredulous look was at least a change from the hangdog sullen face he'd been sporting, so Dean was chalking it up to a win. “Just... turn around.” With a last skeptical glance but no spoken commentary, Sam shuffled around to face the wall, his naked, wet, and muscular body bumping and nudging against Dean's in close-quartered necessity. Dean blew out a sharp breath and firmly instructed himself to ignore it, focusing on pouring the rest of the beer into Sam's hair and trying to drag his fingers through the strands. The beer didn't seem to be helping at all, but pulling his hand down through it at least seemed to be mitigating the briar patch Sam had worked his hair into. Dean finger combed it brusquely, gentling when his fingers jolted at larger knots that had Sam hissing.

The next experiment was gun oil, and it was probably just as well that Sam wasn't in charge any more. Dean wasn't sure how many more of these his little brother would have willingly gone along with, but you never knew unless you tried, right? Sam stiffened a little as Dean rubbed a bit of the oil into the ends of his coated locks, maybe catching the scent, but he didn't make a fuss about it. Unfortunately, the oil fared no better than the rest of what they'd tried. Sam's hair was thick with whatever the monster had spewed out, the water from the shower head pouring cleanly over it and not even thinning it out. Dean cast a dubious glance at the few items on the sink outside the stall before returning to slowly detangling with his fingers. If the gun oil had almost set Sam off, he might only have one more shot at this before there was a full blown rejection, and who knew what the stuff would be like if it had until morning to dry. With a silent plea upwards, Dean uncapped his lotion.

Not the motel lotion. Sam had gone through that along with the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner before resorting to the square of bar soap. This was Dean's personal supply, and one he'd carried with him since his late teens, when he'd discovered how much better his hand could be when it wasn't dry. Most people wouldn't notice the scent, caught somewhere between coconut and cucumber, but he knew his brother would recognize it as instantly as he would himself. He shifted his legs, his dick uncomfortably caught in wet cotton as even the memory of the smell caused an ingrained reaction. The tightly packed shower stall, heated with sultry steam, and the nearness of what was objectively a very fine body only made it worse and Dean could only be glad Sam was turned away and wouldn't be aware of his quickly growing problem.

Deciding that getting this over as quickly as possible was the safest way forward, Dean squirted a much larger mass of lotion than he'd anticipated into his cupped palm. The cream spilled over his fingers and spattered his poor, sopping socks before he hastily applied the rest to the back of Sam's head. The indignant squeak of Sam's recognition would have been priceless if Dean wasn't simultaneously fighting an erection and the high possibility of slipping and falling. He dropped the bottle to the shower floor and braced his now-free hand against the tile wall, curling his fingers into Sam's hair until he was sure his balance wouldn't fail.

“Dean.” Sam's voice was caught someplace between shock and ire, but Dean blinked at the sight before him and interrupted before the lecture could really get started.

“Shut up, I think it's working,” he muttered, a careful spark of hope catching in his throat. His loosely balled fist was wrapped in strands that finally seemed to be unsticking. He forced his hand open, scooping a clot of lotion with his suddenly unsteady fingertips and then resting them at the roots. With a slow stroke and held breath, his fingers sank into Sam's hair cleanly, easily parting it into slickened channels. Dean's thumb came down, enfolding the hank of hair in his hand and squeezing as he pulled until it slid free, the coating of slime he'd removed from it dropping to the shower floor. “It is.”

Sam let out a shaky breath that revealed the stress his strong shoulders had hidden, his back trembling for a moment before firming back to steadiness. Dean took his silence as assent, and moved to cleanse the next strand, the dense lotion making each milking stroke so easy that it was becoming hard to believe the supernatural substance had previously been so impervious. The feel of thick, healthy hair moving over his hands was intoxicating with sensual associations, and Dean was self indulgent to bring his second fist into play, no longer needing the wall to steady him.

God, he'd always loved this. Two soft handfuls of silky hair, the long threads slipping through the sensitive creases of his fingers like a caress, the phantom memories of past blow jobs swimming in his blood. His cock was full to throbbing now, and though it would get no satisfaction in the shower, Dean's morals were flexible enough that he already knew he'd be recalling the sensation of Sam's hair in his hands when he eventually had his grip back to himself.

Okay, maybe he had let himself get a little carried away, not stopping immediately once Sam's hair was completely cleansed of monster-goo. God, it felt good. Hot and humid from the shower water, still smelling like the sweet lotion that had accompanied all too many moments of Dean coming over his own palm. For a second, he let his fingers tighten, nails scraping over his brother's scalp as he tugged at it, knowing he was pushing past what could be maybe justified and right up to obviously getting off on it. The quiet sound Sam made at just that moment derailed any chance at self-recrimination though.

There was no mistaking the wanton moan for anything other than lust-fogged pleasure. Dean, who had mostly been focused on his own experience, was suddenly aware of just how tightly coiled Sam's muscles were, erotic tension straining his body even as he braced himself against the wall. He was instantly, blindingly aware that Sam must be just as hard as him, must have been fighting to keep those noises inside for quite a while for one to have finally escaped, and the power he had blew through his veins like nothing he'd felt before.

Maybe a better man would've stepped back, pretended he hadn't heard anything and let the moment fade into obscurity. Or maybe he'd do what Dean did, letting his grasp on Sam pull his younger brother flush up against his body so that he was blinded by the same realization that he'd just had, that as wrong and forbidden as it might be, neither of them were alone in this. Sam froze for just a moment as Dean's cock pressed into him, big and eager and unmistakably erect, and then that little whimper he'd made before was unfettered and let to run free as he rocked his ass back in welcome.

Everything seemed to happen very quickly then. Sam pivoted around, his hands pushing at the wet boxers that resisted removal. Dean wanted to help him, but he needed his hold on Sam's hair back, needed to use his handhold to guide their lips together in an urgent unleashing of restraint, learning his brother's mouth in a way that he'd always tried to hide from wanting. Sam managed to force his boxers down enough to free his cock at last, and Dean jolted – the near-painful rasp of wet cotton having hypersensitized him for the pleasure of long, capable fingers wrapping around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned out, answered immediately by Sam croaking his name before their mouths were fused once more to pant-broken kissing. He could only press forward, forcing Sam against the wall of the shower stall until their bodies were flush, stuttering together in the spray. The water made it simultaneously easier and more difficult, the noises they were making steadily drowning out the shower's roar. Dean finally couldn't take the teasing any more and brought one fist down to slickly wrap around them both, cucumber-coconut turning the friction into a silken glide of forbidden pleasure that soon eclipsed him, Sam following swiftly after. Their kissing slowed to shared breath and soft presses against the corners of their mouths, against Dean's jaw and Sam's throat, the hot throb of sex succumbing to a growing warmth of connection.

Sam's eyes were dark with a complicated mix of emotions when they finally separated. Dean hid his own uncertainty as Sam turned the water off, escaping past the curtain to grab a towel and begin drying off. Sam stepped out beside him and did the same, silent and unreadable, and Dean struggled to find words to fill the quiet that wouldn't break the fragile moment. He couldn't regret a moment of the night, but there was a twisting in his chest that wondered if Sam did. His introspection was broken when Sam dropped his towel, his lanky body still soft with moisture. Sam walked towards the door naked, pausing to look back with a look full of invitation and challenge over a truly magnificent ass, and a relief he'd never admit to washed over Dean. He knew he'd follow that look anywhere.

And then he swiftly twisted his own towel into a rope and flicked it at Sam's ass, earning a yelp and a glare before Sam manhandled him to the motel bed in a retaliatory tussle. They were brothers, after all.


End file.
